


Watson's Woes (and other stories)

by thesadchicken



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Lots of fun!, M/M, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets I wrote for Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2019.Starring Doctor Watson, and based on the daily prompts over at watsons_woes. Expect a lot of Holmes/Watson!





	1. And now the explosion

**Author's Note:**

> The chapters are entirely unrelated.   
> Prompts are in the chapter summaries, as well as the ratings for each chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Boom! Explosions, literal and otherwise. Include at least one in your work today.  
> Summary: Watson's thoughts during the explosion scene in Sherlock Holmes (2009)  
> Rating: PG.

The night is quiet, but Watson’s heart is pounding in his ears. Adrenaline – the old rush, just the way he likes it. And then there’s the boat, the scoundrel, and Watson’s body is humming with excitement. His legs know only how to run; through the night, through the pain, through the limp… and then through something else: a string, taut and dangerous. That unmistakable click sobers him up instantly.

Watson looks down, only a second, only a breathless second. It’s as if he doesn’t quite believe it himself, but then he does, he truly does, he knows only too well that it was a trap and that his treacherous body succumbed to the need for action, landing him right in the middle of it. Too late, it’s too late. The boat, the scoundrel, the string, the click – and now what? Now the explosion.

Watson looks up, only a second, only an endless second. He sees Holmes running after him, running towards him, and his body reacts again. A single sound escapes him; a single cry, loud enough to bruise his throat, loud enough that he hardly recognises his own voice. A single word, a name, ‘Holmes!’

He sees a pair of startled grey eyes – so rarely startled, those grey eyes – and he hears his cry resonate through the night, through the pain. He has the time to think a comforting thought before the explosion: ‘Holmes’ is the last word he will ever speak.

So this is how it is: the boat, the scoundrel, the string, the click, the cry, the startled grey eyes, and now the explosion. Now, the inevitable explosion.

Watson wants to keep his eyes open, if only to see Holmes’ one last time, but it’s too bright, too red, too much. Deafening, ear-splittingly loud. His body, the treacherous thing, is useless now. He feels the explosion in his very bones. It lifts him off the ground, into the air, and then slams him down onto the ground, _into_ the ground.

But the last word he has spoken, ‘Holmes’, has saved him. Saved them both.

When the explosion fades, Watson isn’t conscious, but he is alive. His awareness comes back in trickles, and in-between he hears voices, most beloved voices. Holmes, and Mary, and a silence that envelops them all, and then ‘I know that you care for him as much as I do.’

It’s an entirely other kind of explosion, to be alive, and to hear the silence that Holmes leaves behind, a silence full of confessions.


	2. Holmes and the Case of the Excess of Thingumminess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Write any version of Sherlock Holmes in the style of another author.  
> Summary: If P. G. Wodehouse wrote Sherlock Holmes.  
> Rating: G.

‘By Jove,’ I cried, lifting the old bean off the pillow, ‘That must be it!’

‘It most certainly is,’ Holmes replied, placing the stub of his gasper in the ash tray with a flourish.

Oh, dash it. I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Started right in the middle of things, lost my audience, all that rot. It’s the snag I’m always coming up against when I'm trying to tell a story: when and where to start? I should have started with the case, probably. A rummy case it was, too – had us running around London all blasted night.

But, weighing this against that, I suppose I shall spare you all the rannygazoo. The case itself was monotonous – if monotonous is the word I want – and the chase a complete disaster. We came home tired and annoyed at having wasted a spiffing good night on such a bally useless pursuit. I heaved the Watson corpus into bed, too exhausted to undress.

A few minutes – hours? months? – later, I was awakened by the noise of a very excited Holmes pulling the curtains apart with a cry of ‘Watson! It’s clear as daylight!’

Daylight indeed – the offending rays of sunlight landed on my poor tired eyelids, causing said p. t. es to flicker open for a moment, only for me to be blinded and close them again. ‘Holmes, please, not now,’ I whined. I mean to say, what? Can’t a chap catch the prescribed forty winks after a night of pointless leaping about?

I heard Holmes lighting a gasper and sitting down at the edge of my bed. ‘I’ve solved it, Watson,’ he said. I knew from his voice that everything was oojah-cum-spiff, and that I was in no danger of being dragged out of bed for another fruitless chase. And so, reassured, I pried open my p. t. es and looked at him.

‘Eh?’

‘I’ve solved the case,’ he said, the shadow of a smile flickering over his finely chiselled features.

I listened with growing interest as he explained it to me.

‘By Jove,’ I cried, lifting the old bean off the pillow, ‘That must be it!’

‘It most certainly is,’ Holmes replied, placing the stub of his gasper in the ash tray with a flourish.

I don’t know what came over me then, but in what that poet chappie might have called an excess of thingumminess, I reached out and held Holmes’ hand in mine. ‘Holmes, old fruit,’ I said, ‘you’re a wonder.’

Something rather sweet filled the man’s eyes as he said, ‘Thank you, Watson.’


	3. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Bloody weather!: Include some meteorological elements in today's entry.  
> Summary: It's hot, Watson's body is languid, and Holmes' mind is sizzling.  
> Rating: PG+13.

The windows were open, but the air was heavy and damp. The heat was a living thing, crawling up the buildings and coiling around the furniture. Outside, Baker Street was slow and mellow; melting, almost. And inside, Holmes’ body was slowing down. His mind sizzled and sputtered – oh, but his mind always sizzles and sputters – and his body slowed down. The contrast was painful, but he’d been through worse.

It was clear he wouldn’t get anything done today. Not until sunset. Not until the heat slid back down the walls and into the depths of the earth where it belonged.

Footsteps. The stairs. Watson’s limp. Holmes’ mind still sizzled, _confound it_ , but his body took its time turning towards the door. He looked up from his desk in time to see Watson discard his jacket.

‘Good heavens,’ the doctor muttered, ‘Only a madman would willingly set foot outside in this weather.’ He let himself fall into the armchair, where he threw his head back with a sigh and closed his eyes.

Holmes watched in silence. Watson’s trousers stuck to the back of his thighs – sweat. He’d been walking. No dirt on his shoes though – a short walk, then. Was it truly that hot?

Watson’s stomach quivered and trembled under his shirt, and his chest rose and fell rapidly – effort. He was used to the stairs; they usually wouldn’t make him pant so much. But then his hand clutched his leg and he winced – ah, the old injury. Heat, effort, pain. Where was his cane?

Watson’s throat bobbed and a thick band of sweat lined his collar – enticing… his mouth open, his eyebrows curved upwards as if pleading… a single drop of sweat slithered down the side of his face, from his temple, over his cheekbones, along his jaw, down his throat…

Holmes watched it – that single drop of sweat – watched it as it disappeared under Watson’s shirt, and then he imagined it sliding down that broad chest, over that flat stomach, between those quivering thighs… Watson sighed again, such a sweet, sinful sound…

Heat of another kind spread across Holmes’ languid body. His useless, slow, lazy body. And now he burned twice as much, and his mind sizzled, sizzled, crackling with thoughts of Watson: Watson’s thighs, Watson’s stomach, Watson’s chest, Watson’s throat, Watson’s mouth…

‘You’re staring,’ Watson said without opening his eyes.

And Holmes’ body ached, useless as it was, at the sound of Watson’s voice. It ached to reach out and touch, and be touched, and feel the heat and sweat and panting… But his mind always sizzled.

‘You forgot your cane at the park yesterday evening and had to retrieve it before seeing your patient this afternoon. You took care not to stain your trousers or shoes. However, without the cane –’

‘Yes, yes,’ Watson said irritably, but when he looked up, his eyes held a secret smile. ‘Terribly clever, old boy.’ And he unbuttoned the top two buttons his shirt, the devil!

‘Simple logic,’ Holmes breathed, heat rising inside him, rising, rising, and he crossed his legs, then cleared his throat, then looked out the window. Useless, useless body.

Watson smiled. ‘Nothing can stop that great brain of yours, can it? Not even this scorching heat.’

No, not this heat – but the other... Watson’s thighs, stomach, chest, throat, mouth… Holmes closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath. ‘Not even this scorching heat,’ he replied.

‘Mm,’ Watson hummed, the same teasing smile playing on his lips, and then he closed his eyes as well, and they sat dreaming of each other’s slow, useless, languid bodies.


	4. Exquisite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Nothing So Good As A Good Book: Include a favorite book or work of literature in your entry today.  
> Summary: “Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”   
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had more time to explore this, but there you go. Watson reads one of my favorite books.

It was in the summer of 1894, a few months after Sherlock Holmes’ return. I was reading, as I often did on long August afternoons, by the window. Holmes was sitting in the shadows, playing the violin. 

While reading, I came upon a passage that unsettled me: _“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”_

I looked up from my book and turned towards Holmes. His violin produced beautiful lamentations, and I thought, _Good Lord, he is exquisite_. I considered his incredible intellect; his great roiling mind – his blessing and his curse – and I tilted my head to the side. _Oh, and he is tragic, in a way I can never understand_.

While the violin moaned, I thought of my late wife, of losing _him_ , of my most secret longing. I was, quite possibly, tragic myself. By extension, did that make me in some way exquisite? I shook my head. Exquisite was a word reserved for him, and I was sure that Oscar Wilde would readily agree with me.


	5. Mist and Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Photo prompt.  
> Summary: The night is all Watson has.   
> Rating: G.

Long black roads and paths paved with darkness - these are our shelters.   
  
The night is what we have. These gloomy streets are the storms we throw ourselves into. We run into the water to escape the shore. We hunt for the thrill of it, but also for fear of staying motionless when the day dies.   
  
The night holds no secrets for us. We stand under the flickering lamppost, in this thick fog, and we watch our shadows, elongated on the ground.   
  
Here and now, when I am by his side in the danger and darkness, I know myself.


	6. Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: In emergency break glass: Include broken glass in today's entry. It may be an accident, a clue, however you wish to interpret it.  
> Summary: Watson understands that she will always be there for Sherlock when he needs her.  
> Rating: PG.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNIVERSE: Elementary.  
> WARNINGS: Blood. Implied self-harm.  
> WORD COUNT: 221(B)

It was in the early days of her association with Sherlock Holmes. Watson heard a crash from the kitchen. When she got there, he was leaning against the wall, holding his hand near his chest. His shirt was flecked with red.

“Should I even ask?” she said, glaring at him.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t like the answer,” he replied as he stood there, fidgeting. It never unsettled her, his way of speaking in a calm voice while his entire body seemed frenzied.

Broken glass littered the floor. She walked up to him. “Show me.”

He opened his palm, revealing shards of glass lodged in his skin. Watson nodded. “Okay, wait here.”

Hand sanitizer and tweezers – hardly a surgeon’s tools. But she was no longer a surgeon, she reminded herself. When she walked back into the kitchen he was still standing there. She had half-expected him to have run off. He opened his hand again and waited, like a child. She cleaned his wounds in silence.

When she looked up, he was staring at her. This, however, did unsettle her.

“What?” she asked.

“How many broken bottles before you stop caring?”

Again: calm voice, frantic body. His eyes were devastatingly sad. Watson almost looked away – almost. But then, with a passion she thought she’d lost, she said, “More than you can count.”


	7. عاطِـني كأسَ سَـلْوَة

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Lost in Translation: Use a non-English phrase or quote in today's entry.  
> Summary: Holmes asks Watson to translate a mysterious note.  
> Rating: R for language.

Holmes threw a folded piece of paper onto the breakfast table. ‘What do you make of it?’ he asked me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

I opened the note, which read as follows:

عاطِـني كأسَ سَـلْوَة ٍ عَنْ أذانِ المؤذِّنِ

اسْقِـني الخمْرَ جهْرَةً وألْـِطني ، وأزْنني

I looked at Holmes. ‘Who left this?’

‘Someone slipped it under the door last night. It’s Persian, is it not? You’ve been to Afghanistan, doctor. Surely you’ve learnt something of the local alphabet.’

‘This isn’t Persian, it’s Arabic. The alphabet is the same, but the rest is completely different.’

Holmes raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, captivated. ‘And you happen to know Arabic as well?’

I looked at the note one last time. ‘No. Not really. I only have a rudimentary knowledge of –’

‘Come now, Watson, what does it say?’

I considered lying to him, but that was senseless – he would know if I lied, and he would know why. I took a deep breath. ‘It’s an old Arab poem. “ _With cups of comfort wash the call to prayer from my mind,  
Give me some wine to drink in public, then fuck me from behind_.”’

Holmes remained perfectly still for an alarmingly long time. I cleared my throat and scratched the back of my neck uncomfortably.

‘I know exactly who left this note,’ he finally said, and I could have sworn his face had turned red.

I looked away, my own face burning. More silence from Holmes, and then, ‘Opium dens are disreputable places, but the patrons are quite the cultured lot.’

At this, I could do nothing but laugh.


	8. Exactly as you should be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Against the stereotype. While in 1850s plumpness was considered to be synonymous with good health and beauty, by the end of the century the trend became quite the opposite: “Obesity always carries with it physical and often mental weakness…” Address this stereotype and how it might affect a character in your work today.  
> Summary: Young Carter is being teased about his weight. Watson intervenes.  
> Rating: G.

The boy always stood behind the others and often waited for young Wiggins and the rest of the Irregulars outside. Watson noticed this. One morning he decided to intervene.

‘You there,’ he called, ‘Carter, is it?’

‘Tom Carter, sir,’ the boy answered shyly, his hands behind his back.

‘You’ve been oddly quiet lately.’

‘Well…’

‘Speak up, Tom. Is there something wrong?’

‘The truth is, Doctor Watson, sir – well, the truth is… I’m fat, sir.’

Watson raised his eyebrows incredulously. ‘You’re a plump boy, yes. And?’

‘The others, Doctor Watson, they tease me. Call me daft and stupid and a big fat pig.’

Watson crouched down to the boy's eye level and placed a comforting hand on the child’s shoulder. ‘When I was your age, I was rather heavy myself,’ he said. He remembered how his mother would call him a handsome, healthy young man. Tom Carter had no mother – someone else would have to tell him. ‘There is nothing wrong with you, Tom. You are exactly as you should be.’

The boy looked unconvinced. Watson leaned in and gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘And between you and me, out of all the Baker Street Irregulars, you are most definitely the healthiest – not to mention the strongest.’

‘I am?’ Tom said with a wobbly smile.

‘You are. Trust me, I’m a doctor.’


	9. Bottles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: On Your Left: The object closest to you on your left is now your prompt. Include it or use it as inspiration for today's entry. For me it was a bottle.  
> Summary: What goes on inside Holmes' head as he watches Watson dance during [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_2ueqFSHF0).  
> Rating: PG.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Drinking.

I watched him as he lifted the bottle to his mouth. Once, twice, too many times; he was drunk within half an hour. He danced, although I had asked him not to – he knows what happens when he dances, he knows the weight of my gaze on his body. He swirled and twirled and brought the bottle to his lips once more. Soon he was leaping heavenwards, smiling and singing along to a song he didn’t know.  
  
I watched him as he threw the bottle away, threw it into the fire the way he threw himself into the night, into the dance, into the arms of men and women alike.   
  
I watched him and for a fleeting moment my mind knew peace. I could see only him, and on my lips his name was like a promise, ‘John.’   
  
He lifted the second bottle and looked at me. He smiled, he took a step towards me, and on his lips my name was an invitation, ‘Holmes, come dance with me,’ I thought I heard him say.  
  
But by then, I had already emptied a bottle of my own.


	10. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Words and Phrases: Use at least three of the following words and phrases in your work today. Use all of them, and you’re halfway to the All the Words bonus point for this year.   
> 1\. Dreams  
> 2\. Red sky at night shepherds delight  
> 3\. Summer time and the living is easy  
> 4\. An unexpected visitor  
> 5\. Flight  
> 6\. Flisk  
> 7\. Sophism  
> 8\. Amalgamate  
> 9\. Paroxysm  
> 10\. Lacuna  
> 11\. Apposite  
> Summary: Here they are, together in their sunset years.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used all 11 words, yey!

I was sitting on the veranda, watching the sun set. A breeze shook the nearby trees, and I smiled as I watched the birds’ frenzied **flight** into the crimson sky. In the corner, the gramophone was playing a record young Wiggins had brought me as a birthday present. A beautiful song by some American chap called George Gershwin.

**_“Summertime, and the livin' is easy_ ** _  
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high”_

I closed my eyes. Earlier today, on a **flisk** , I had pulled out a story of our old adventures and read it. Now I sat thinking of those days, of a past that held so many tales. How turbulent our lives had been! How full of action and blood and **unexpected visitors**!

‘Still lost in the past, are you?’ a familiar voice woke me from my reverie.

I looked up at him and smiled again. ‘Your parlour-tricks no longer amuse me,’ I teased him, although truthfully, even after all this time, I was still quite bewildered at how he deduced my day- **dreams** from across the veranda.

He sat down next to me with a groan. ‘ **Sophism** , my dear, pure sophism.’

I snorted, but I denied nothing. Holmes watched the sun set, the sky burn, the birds **amalgamate** near the horizon. He closed his eyes, as I had done only moments ago. Our little cottage was as peaceful as Baker Street had been tempestuous. Here we knew nothing of the **paroxysms** of the city – here we knew only peace, and the setting sun, and the burning sky.

‘ **Red sky at night, shepherds’ delight** ,’ I whispered contentedly.

‘An **apposite** quotation,’ Holmes said, his lips curling into a smile.

‘Hardly a quotation,’ I couldn’t help but laugh.

‘You’re right. A common phrase at best.’

‘But apposite all the same.’

‘Apposite all the same.’

We sat in comfortable silence for a while. He watched the horizon, I watched him. Our cottage, our silence, our happiness. I sighed, and this caused Holmes to turn towards me.

‘Nostalgic?’ he asked.

‘Ah, no. You’ve got it wrong this time.’

‘Come, come.’

‘No, really. It was a sigh of utter contentment.’

He pursed his lips, but his eyes met mine and in them I read the depth of his affection. He nodded slowly, agreeing with me – of course. After another moment of pleasurable silence, Holmes chuckled softly.

‘You know, Watson, despite the evident **lacunae** in your accounts of our adventures, I do believe I enjoy reading those stories.’

I stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’ve read them? I thought you hated them!’

He closed his eyes once more. ‘How could I ever hate them, Watson?’

And as I studied each line that time had left on his beloved face, I heard the words he did not say. Words he had said a thousand, thousand times before. Words that had landed us here, together in our sunset years.


	11. The Case of the Space Station Murder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: So Many AUs, So Little Time: Magic? Sci-fi? Mythological beings? Aliens? Cyborgs? Coffeeshops? Cats? The choice (or choices) are up to you. Follow in the footsteps of the BBC, CBS, the creators of Sherlock Hound, and so many others, and set Holmes and Watson in an alternate universe.  
> Summary: ‘I am Captain Holmes of the USS Challenger. And this is Doctor Watson, Chief Medical Officer.'  
> Rating: G.

‘I am Captain Holmes of the USS Challenger. And this is Doctor Watson, Chief Medical Officer,’ the captain said, gesturing towards his loyal CMO, who gave a polite nod. ‘We heard your distress signal and we are here to investigate the murder of Enoch Drebber.’

Commander Lestrade, Chief of Security, shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Behind him, his officers – all clad in red-shirts – yawned and scratched their necks.

T’Kar, the Vulcan engineer who had sent the distress signal, lifted an eyebrow at Captain Holmes. ‘Welcome aboard our station, Captain. Tales of your exploits have reached us through Doctor Watson’s log-entries. If these somewhat idealized accounts are to be trusted, then you are indeed a logical man.’

Doctor Watson tugged at the hem of his blue uniform shirt, and Captain Holmes tilted his head to the side. ‘To be called logical by a Vulcan! A great honour,’ he chuckled. ‘Now, Professor T’Kar, if you would be so kind as to show us the murder scene.’

Captain Holmes and Doctor Watson, followed by Lestrade and his somnolent group of red-shirts, were shown around the space station. As they made it to the crime scene – a small corridor near airlock 3 – Watson reached for his phaser. He knew that before the end of the day he would have to stun some scoundrel or other; that Holmes would solve the mystery despite the apparent lack of evidence; and that at least one person wearing a red shirt would sadly perish.


	12. The Elusive Finch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: The Women of Conan Doyle. In today’s work, make sure a woman is pivotal. Perhaps it is Mrs Hudson, long-suffering landlady; or maybe it is Violet Hunter from the Copper Beeches; or Anne Harrison, stalwart fiancée to Percy Phelps – or is there an original lady who swings onto the scene?   
> Summary: Her grey eyes met mine, and I instantly knew who she was.   
> Rating: G.

The first and only time I saw her, she was standing near the window in our rooms. Her grey eyes met mine, and I instantly knew who she was. I couldn’t say that she resembled him – her auburn hair, her round face, her small upturned nose: she looked more like a finch than a hawk. And yet there were those grey eyes, and the mischievous twinkle they held.

‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Holmes,’ I said, nodding curtly.

‘Doctor Watson,’ she raised her chin, the shadow of a smile playing upon her full lips, ‘I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance. I trust my brother is out? You needn’t worry about him, he will be back soon – it shouldn’t take him more than two hours to discover that it was the _Lady_ Winship who did it, of course.’

I stared at her. ‘How did –’

‘Oh come now, doctor, I told you not to worry – although that look of concern is quite becoming on you, and a compliment to Sherlock, if I dare say so. Sit now, the cold cannot be good for your old injuries.’

It shouldn’t have surprised me that she was intelligent and impertinent and bold and everything someone named Holmes was expected to be. A thought entered my mind. ‘What is your name?’

She raised her eyebrows at me and tilted her head to the side like a cat. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

She chuckled softly. ‘Enola,’ she whispered, almost as if it were a secret, and I understood then that she wouldn’t be waiting for her brother’s return. She must have seen it in the way I shifted on my feet and refused to sit, for she stood up and, handing me a sealed envelope, she said, ‘Give Sherlock this letter, and my regards.’

She left. I never saw her again.


	13. Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13: Ah Youth! Entries today should include a main character as a child. Whether this is literal, figurative, as a memory or backstory, or via some deaging hootenannies, all is fair play.  
> Summary: Young Watson's woes.   
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied homophobia.

John sat under a tree and drew his knees up to his chest. He looked at the house – his father’s domain – and he thought of his notebook upstairs, filled with sketches of ankles, jawlines, shoulders and forearms and all the things he’d learned about anatomy. He thought of his father’s rage, the horrible sound of him tearing the paper, and the words that had followed; the words that hurt more than the blows.

John closed his eyes. The sketches had truly been for science – but the scribble above had been a note for the pretty boy with the grey eyes.


	14. The Demand of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14: Musical Chairs . Choose one (or more) of the following musical prompts to inspire you today!  
> \- The Beautiful Blue Danube.  
> \- The Demand of Man.  
> \- Scheherazade.  
> Summary: After a case, Holmes shares a terrible truth with Watson.   
> Rating: G.

When I came home, he was plucking savagely at his violin. I frowned, fearing he’d succumbed to one of his terrible moods. But the expression on his face was that of profound disgust. I watched as he reached for his bow, sending a tragic melody into the air with violent motions. When he set his instrument down, he was breathless.

‘Holmes?’

His eyes finally focused on me, and he said, ‘There are crimes, Watson, that one can only see to believe. Greed is a monstrous thing. The world has never known more terrible a plight than the demand of man.’


	15. Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 15: Quote Prompt: “Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.” (Ray Bradbury) Use the quote however it inspires you, it does not need to be directly included in the fill.  
> Summary: Steel your mind, Holmes.  
> Rating: PG.

Watson waited for daylight to draw Holmes away from his fevered visions, and as he sat there, he wondered… What must it be like inside that great brain, when all the answers were out of reach and all the paths lead to nowhere? What was it like for the man who saw everything, when the answers evaded him?

Blackwood had warned him – warned them both. _Steel your mind_. Watson shook his head: no, that meant nothing, Blackwood was mad.

And yet… and yet sometimes Watson feared that Holmes stood on the very brink of madness himself. A single step… and then insanity.


	16. Gentlemice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Include an animal that is not a dog.  
> Summary: Just a couple of gentlemice chillin'.  
> Rating: G.


	17. Exquisite Agonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17: Going Gothic: Gothic novels/Romance – a popular source of entertainment! Incorporate this genre somehow into your work today, or even create your own bit of gothic fiction! Bonus point if you go extra cheesy.  
> Summary: Watson pines for Holmes. Intensely.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I hope this is Gothic enough and Cheesy™ enough.

The castle loomed over the dark horizon, tall and threatening and beautiful, and my heart ached at the sight. There, in the blackness of the ancient towers, Holmes was investigating a most disturbing case – an incident involving bloodsucking creatures and deadly apparitions.

But I was not there for the case. The macabre fascinated me, as it always did, but tonight something stronger than the thrill of an unsolved mystery roiled in my chest. I had decided to tell him – no matter what he thought, I could be silent no longer – tell him what exquisite agonies tortured my soul late at night; tell him how I heard his name each time the wind whispered against my window; tell him that when the moon shone bright I thought of his eyes, and that when his eyes shone bright I wished for a swift and merciful death.

I arrived at the castle near midnight. I heard a wolf howl, and an owl screech. Holmes was at the top of the stairs, as if waiting for me. Nature Herself held her breath as I moved towards him, a single tentative step. But when his eyes shone bright in the moonlight I found I had lost my words, and my confession remained stuck in my throat.


	18. New life (or What Reichenbach Took)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 18: Also Appearing Tonight - Sherlock Holmes: Spotlight a side character or an OFC; have Holmes and/or Watson appear or be mentioned, but only briefly (less than a paragraph, or a few sentences).  
> Summary: Simza Heron reflects on her life.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNIVERSE: Ritchie!verse, Sherlock Holmes: A Game Of Shadows (2012). 
> 
> Author's note: I love Simza a lot.

Her legs ached from running and her lungs burned from breathing the cold Swiss air. Her hair whipped her face, the wind making it dance around her head like serpents. She had been running for so long – too long – it was time to stop.

She’d lost so much along the way. The sun would set on a smaller world tonight. And yet as Simza Heron looked back at the roaring falls, she felt light. As if something had been lost – something she did not know if she would miss or not.

Those mighty falls roared on, and Simza stared into the water. Reichenbach had taken so much from her. She thought of her brother, of her friends, of the pile of names and faces and memories that would now for ever belong to the past. She thought of the two Englishmen, of the way they sat close together, the hand of one gently grasping the other. She thought of the doctor’s eyes when he had returned, stunned, to reveal that the water had taken his friend.

The water had taken so much from so many. Tonight Simza would think of all those names and faces and she would smile, and she would drink, and she would be grateful.

A new life awaited.


	19. Swaying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19: Messing About In Boats: Include a water-based method of travel in today's offering.  
> Summary: Joan dreams of a swaying boat.  
> Rating: G.

Joan remembered dreaming of a boat. She was sitting at the center of it, and the boat was swaying, and the waves were made of cloth. Her hair was in her eyes, but her arms were too heavy, she couldn’t lift them, couldn’t do anything but sit there at the center of the boat and sway.

Someone was hurt – screaming, pleading – and she couldn’t lift her arms, she could only sit, and someone was actually dying, she knew it but she couldn’t do anything, she was swaying, waves made of cloth, oh God, no, someone was going to die. All her knowledge and she couldn’t save them… save him; Sherlock, it was Sherlock, and she could do nothing but…

Joan remembered waking up. She remembered sitting in bed and staring out the window at the rainy New York sky, grey and full of clouds that looked so much like those waves, waves made of cloth.

Joan remembered thinking that there was nothing in the world she feared more than losing Sherlock. Not being able to save him – and losing him.

During the case, when he asked her why she was frowning at the boat, she shrugged. But she knew that the waves would bring back feelings of unease. When he looked away she promised herself that she would never lose him.


	20. Doing It Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20: Working Cases in Your Sleep: Your work today should include an issue with sleeping (Somnambulism, exhaustion, insomnia, etc)  
> Summary: Grand revelations over breakfast.  
> Rating: PG+13.

‘I believe you will be doing it again, then.’  
  
This was how my friend, Sherlock Holmes, greeted me one morning as we both sat down to breakfast. ‘I beg your pardon?’ I blinked at him, perplexed.   
  
Holmes’ lips curled into a playful smile. ‘You’ve spent the night with someone.’  
  
My eyes widened in surprise. ‘How could you possibly have –’  
  
‘It was quite simple,’ he said, leaning back in his chair and bringing his fingertips together, ‘First I saw the mark on your cheek; a straight line from below your eye down to your jaw; the imprint of the edge of your pillow – a pillow shared. Since you had not planned another pillow, it is safe to presume that this encounter was unplanned. Unplanned encounters in bed at night are more often than not – and you will forgive my using the word – illicit. This confirmed my suspicion that the marks upon your neck are not bruises. Following the trail of these marks, I found a stain on your collar, and several wrinkles in your trousers and shirt. I have never known you to be careless with your appearance, Watson, and even in the morning you are rarely dishevelled. As to how I deduced that you would be doing it again – the dreamy half-smile you entered the room wearing was the only clue I needed.’  
  
I said nothing. Holmes tilted his head to the side. ‘I do have one question, Watson.’  
  
‘I would rather not –’  
  
‘Oh, come, humour me.’  
  
‘Very well,’ I sighed.  
  
‘You know me well enough to understand that I ask this without judgement, but – was it a man?’  
  
I stared at him, completely in awe – as usual – of his ability to make such grand deductions out of such small details. But my revelation was surely the most stunning that morning, for I said, ‘It was you, Holmes. You sleepwalk. Last night you found your way into my bed.’  
  
He paled and his smile vanished. I had never seen him so surprised. ‘Good Lord,’ he breathed, ‘did I –?’  
  
‘You rather insisted on it, yes.’  
  
‘Good lord!’  
  
Silence. And then, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Watson.’  
  
I smiled at him. ‘But you said it yourself – we will be doing it again… if you still want it as much as you did last night.’


	21. Thirst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: I’ve Got a Secret: John Watson reveals a secret he's been hiding his entire life. Bonus point if the secret is that Watson is a vampire.  
> Summary: Tonight I will tell him.  
> Rating: PG.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of blood.  
> Author's note: this might serve as the prologue to a longer fic that work didn't let me write.

For all his great deductive skills, there was one thing that my friend, Mister Sherlock Holmes, has failed to deduce – even after years of sharing rooms with me.

Whether it is his rational mind rejecting the very idea of my secret, or my own ability to hide it so well, the fact is that he never suspected it, not once. Some nights I would sit next to him, and he would look at me and deduce my whereabouts, my plans for tomorrow, my very thoughts, but he would never suspect the thirst for blood that consumed me.

Tonight I will tell him.


	22. Sweetness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 22: Sweet tooth: Today's entry should include candy/dessert/sugar/chocolate in some way.  
> Summary: Mrs. Hudson is away and the house smells sweet.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: sickly-sweet drabble. You have been warned.

Mrs. Hudson was away and yet the house smelled sweet – caramel and cream and childhood memories. The wind and rain pushed against the windows, but 221B Baker Street was immune to their threats. Watson was in the kitchen, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, flour powdering his cheeks. Holmes was watching him, leaning against the door – he rarely stood still for so long unless working on a case.

Watson had decided to bake. The weather was ghastly, and Holmes was restless – ‘we both need cake,’ Watson had laughed. So he baked, and Holmes watched, and for an evening all was well.

**_ALTERNATE ENDING:_ **

So he baked, and they ate, and as night fell over Baker Street a kiss was stolen – lips that tasted of chocolate, skin that glistened like honey, and eyes that melted into each other.


	23. Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 23: Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue, Remove the Impossible and What's Left Is True: Be poetic! Write a poem, or have the characters reference or quote poetry. Music lyrics count.  
> Summary: An acrostic poem, written in a bit of a rush.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: written from Holmes' POV. I didn't win the cheesefest icon for nothing!

**W** here he is, the sun may never set

 **A** thousand wounds he bears, and yet

 **T** he depth of loyalty in my eyes

 **S** ays he, is worth the Earth and skies

 **O** ver the hills we watch the birds depart

 **N** ow I know that I am yours, my lionheart


	24. Three times they were forced to share a bed (and one time they weren’t)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 24: Old Tropes Are The Best Tropes: Use or be inspired by one or more classic tropes in your work today. Examples of classic tropes include: they had to share a room and there was only one bed; it was a dark and stormy night; the doctor needing doctoring; ugly duckling turns into a swan; and so on. If you use one not in the examples, be sure to tell us what it is!   
> Summary: The title says it all.  
> Rating: PG.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I love fanfic tropes, and I love the classics! This one was written in a bit of a rush, I'm afraid.

The first time it happened, they were investigating the murder of a man in the country. The innkeeper was adamant: only one room, only one bed. They had no choice: they slept back to back and tried not to move too much.

The second time, Holmes was sick. Fever and stomach aches and cries of pain throughout the night – Watson stayed by his side until he was starting to fall asleep. Through his feverish haze, Holmes whispered, ‘please, stay with me, doctor.’ Watson slept on the edge of the bed, Holmes’ trembling fingers squeezing his hand.

The third time, they were trapped in a small room inside an abandoned house – the hideout of a group of criminals they had been chasing – and, unable to step outside until the thieves moved away, they were forced to sleep on an old worn-out bed in the corner of the room. They were each aware of the other’s breathing, the way one’s chest would rise and fall a little faster if the other shifted. Watson buried his face in the pillow and tried not to think of Holmes’ honey-and-tobacco scent. Holmes closed his eyes and turned his mind away from the way Watson’s thigh pressed against his.

And then on a dark and stormy night, when all was silent over Baker Street, they did it again – they shared a bed. Not out of necessity, not because they had no other choice, but because Watson’s wound was healing, and Holmes had read the report and had whispered, ‘Nothing is worth your wounds, Watson,’ and their eyes had met, and a moment later they were holding each other, and the bed creaked and groaned for a while until everything was still again.

The next morning they were asleep next to each other, contented smiles on their tired faces.


	25. More Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 25: More Words, Phrases, and All the Things: Use at least three of the following words and phrases in your work today. Use all of them, and you’re halfway to the All the Words bonus point for this year.  
> Summary: Holmes stops a bad guy from doing more bad things. Watson saves the day.  
> Rating: PG.

I felt the wind slip beneath my coat as I followed the fiend outside. The **rain** was dripping off the brim of my hat. There was a roar of **thunder** and a flash of lightning, and for a moment his silhouette was outlined against the night sky. Even from afar, I could see that he was pale with **dread**.

He entered the pub – by the back door, like I knew he would – and again I followed. I heard his nervous footsteps, his knuckles rapping against a concealed door, and then a weary voice saying, ‘It’s half past three! **What is it? A fire?** ’

The pub was empty. I hid behind the counter and waited. I saw the villain and his companion whisper to each other. Their hunched figures looked rather **grotesque** in the dim lamplight. Even Lestrade would have deduced their intentions by now: they were planning their escape. It was time for me to reveal myself.

‘Judge Northcott,’ I said, my voice filling the empty room and making the two men start, ‘I’m afraid you will be missing your train.’

Northcott and his companion – whom I recognised as George Lester, the fraudulent owner of the pub – both shook their heads at me.

‘You can prove nothing, Holmes,’ Northcott spat, but I could see his hands trembling with fear.

‘I have all the evidence I need,’ I replied, ‘Did you truly believe that the crimes you’ve committed would go unpunished? Is the **blood** of the **British workman** so worthless to you? Or are you accustomed to your **horrors**? Do you see no evil in them?’

The judge tried to snort derisively. ‘“ ** _Vox populi, vox dei_** ”? Is that was this is, Holmes?’

‘You use the phrase to mock the naïve notion that the people must always be right, but in truth the expression itself implies that the will of the masses – good or evil – is too powerful to resist. Now come quietly and preserve what little dignity you have left.’

‘What **malapert** remarks, from a man with no power,’ Northcott bared his teeth, mad with rage and fear, ‘You may think that you are important because you are clever, Mister Holmes, but in my world you are nothing. Yes, the blood of men like you is worthless to me. I have no time to waste on vermin.’

I realised my mistake the moment I made it: as I moved to block judge Northcott’s way, George Lester jumped over the counter and reached for his gun. I heard the **bullet** and closed my eyes… but no pain followed the sound.

I looked up to find Watson, standing at the door, his fuming gun pointed straight at Northcott’s chest. In the corner, Lester lay unconscious.

‘How will it feel, I wonder, for the judge to be judged?’ Watson said.

We exchanged a quick glance – his eyes asked if I was injured, mine reassured him that all was well, and then before he could see the pride and affection that surely flickered in my gaze, I looked away.

The corrupt judge was soon taken away by the police. I stared at Watson as he examined Lester’s body, and I vowed to have him by my side, always.


	26. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 26: It Is July, After All: London can be brutal in the summertime. Let’s have some hot sweaty London and Holmes and Watson being hot and sweaty in it, all while trying to solve crimes and not strangle each other.  
> Summary: There's a case to be solved, but it's too bloody hot outside, and Watson needs to be persuaded to leave the house.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I thought I'd try something different, since I already wrote about heat and sweat and all that on day 2 of this challenge. It's been a while since I picked up a pencil, so, you know, my apologizes. This little piece is a tribute to Basil (ghostbees) and their work.


	27. Blind, or in death, or at the end of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 27: A Most Unusual Patient: Watson receives an unusual patient whose presence inspires today’s work.  
> Summary: Watson receives a strange yet familiar patient.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I stole the last sentence from Madeline Miller's "The Song of Achilles". It's such a beautiful quote, and it works so well with Holmes and Watson.

I had rarely received so odd a patient. He knocked at the door with the urgency of a man choking, but when I asked him what ailed him he simply shrugged and said he was here to have his chest examined. I patiently welcomed the stranger in.

He wore a long burgundy coat with rusty fringed shoulder pads, brown breeches and a pair of black boots. He looked rather like an actor, or a lion tamer. I showed him inside and helped him undress. Beneath his extravagant coat was a simple shirt. He unbuttoned it, and I examined him, smiling to myself the entire time.

He had a slight cough, nothing a few days by the sea wouldn’t cure, but I prescribed a treatment all the same. He thanked me, patting his pockets – I told him not to bother, that it was my duty to heal and care for those in need. He smiled at this: an endearing half-smile that made my own chest ache. He picked up his coat and bowed like a circus performer before leaving.

I watched him stroll down the stairs and out into Baker Street. I closed the door behind him, shaking my head. He was pleased with himself! I myself had to admit that the fake nose, eyebrows and beard were very convincing. Once more he thought I hadn’t recognised him, and once more I let him believe it.

But what he didn’t know was that _I could recognise him by touch alone; by smell. I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world._


	28. His Only Vice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 28: The Needle, The Bottle, The Pipe: Everyone has an addiction of one sort or another. Select one to spotlight in today's entry. This can also apply to side characters such as opium-smoking Isa Whitney or former-junkie Alfredo Llamosa.  
> Summary: He comes home tired, worn-out; defeated.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Universe: Ritchie!verse, Sherlock Holmes (2009)

He comes home tired, worn-out, defeated; he falls into his chair without a word. But I need no words – the story is already written on his boots, his sleeve, his pocket, his jaw. I see everything, and then I deduce. I know where he has been and what he has been doing.

Then he looks up and I see something more, and I understand the lassitude in those bright blue eyes. I understand the guilt, the self-loathing, and I wish I could hold his hand in mine and say, ‘Watson, what is mine is yours; even if it is a large sum.’

I see his white-knuckle grip on the chair, the way he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Once more I wish I could hold him against me and whisper, ‘You are the best man I know, Watson. Gambling is your only vice – and if it costs us the rent, so what?’

He wants an easy way to tell me. I give it to him.

‘You should have made your customary bet, old boy,’ I smile at him.

He smiles back, but it is weak; forced. ‘Yes,’ he says, although I know he means ‘ _I want to stop but I don’t know how_.’

I want him to rest his head on my shoulder and sleep his worries away.


	29. Sherlock 99

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 29: Mind Your Jurisdiction: Crossover involving a crime investigator from another universe. (multiple Holmes' verses also OK) Bonus point if you use science!  
> Summary: The 99 needs a little help.  
> Rating: G.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Universe: Elementary / Brooklyn 99 crossover.

“I know we’re supposed to be like ‘we don’t need you, we’re not dum-dums’ or whatever, but I actually think it’s super cool that we’re getting consultants on this case.”

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. “You must be Detective Peralta.”

Jake Peralta’s smile widened. “You’re Sherlock Holmes, if I’m not mistaken – and you’ll see for yourself that I rarely am.”

The two men stared at each other. Then they looked down at the reports in their hands, which were crumpled and stained and a testimony to both detectives’ carelessness when it came to official papers.

“I’m afraid the reports are suffused with scientific jargon,” Sherlock said.

“Okay, you literally sound like someone from Harry Potter and on top of that you use words like ‘suffused’,” Jake looked up from his report, “It’s a good thing I’m fluent in Holt, otherwise I wouldn’t have understood a word you just said. But yeah. Lots of science here.”

“That is why I brought Watson along – she’s a doctor,” Sherlock replied.

Jake nodded. “Yep, I’ve heard of Doctor Watson. My partner on this case is Detective Amy Santiago, and she’s pretty darn good at science too.”

An amused half-smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. “I think we’ll make a good team, Detective Peralta.”

Jake smiled back at him. “No shit, Sherlock.”


	30. Bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 30: Hurt's Over, Time to Comfort: Watson's been whumped (off-screen). How does Holmes and/or another take care of the situation afterward?  
> Summary: Watson thinks it's worth many wounds - Holmes feels guilty.  
> Rating: PG.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: a bit of blood, lots of hurt/comfort.

A bruise, just under his skin, blooming. A wince of pain as I touch it; and yet he won’t give in. He does not complain. ‘I can do it myself,’ he mutters, but we both know it’s a lie. I ignore him and reach for the bandages. He says nothing.

My hands soon grow cajoling. I wonder if he notices. He raises his chin, feigning disinterest, but I see the blush that paints his cheek. My chest still aches from the sight of him, beaten and bloodied, but I wear my usual smirk as I tease him, ‘Come now, Watson, this is a fight you cannot win.’

He falls back onto the bed, and I drift back into my own head. There is a distance between us that I do not quite understand. I know where he has been and what he has been doing – those are easy to deduce. But for all my observing and detecting, I cannot for the life of me understand the silence that has filled our rooms in Baker Street.

I press ice to his bruises. I feel his body relax under my touch. There is a moment of rage when I lift his shirt and see the injury – rage that consumes me, and I almost reach for my pistol; finding the man who did this to Watson would only take a few hours, and oh how I longed to see my bullet in the culprit’s head. But then Watson looks at me, and the rage fades to something else – something I cannot bear, so instead I get up and say, ‘You might need some brandy.’

He grabs me by the arm and pulls me back down to where I was sitting, on the edge of the bed. There is anguish in his eyes, and desperation, and hurt. His fingers dig into my skin. ‘Holmes,’ he whispers. The rest of his words die on his tongue.

I look away. I expect him to let go, but he does not. Instead he heaves a sigh.

‘No brandy, then?’ I try to fill that ghastly silence.

And then it all comes out, a stream of words from between his split lips. ‘There are times when I almost pray for these moments,’ he says, ‘I see the blackguard coming for me and I think, let him strike me, let my blood stain the ground.’

They hurt, his words. I shake my head. ‘Watson, please –’

‘Sometimes I find myself unwilling to fight back. Sometimes I see you running towards me and I savour the pain, because it brings you to me.’

His eyes shine. They are wet. I cannot speak, cannot move. Watson looks down at his bandages and smiles sadly.

‘I am beyond recovery. These wounds will heal but I will find a way to make new ones…’

The rage returns – this time directed at the real culprit: the man that I see in the mirror to my left, leaning over Watson’s bruised body.

I hold both Watson’s hands in mine and I look into his eyes. ‘I shall never forgive myself for leading you to this. I wish I knew how to love you.’

He shakes his head very slowly, then he brings my hands to his mouth and places the softest of kisses on my knuckles. ‘We can learn. Together,’ he smiles.

It is a promise.


	31. Four Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 31: Recycling Is A Good Thing: New to JWP and curious to know what prompts happened in earlier years? An old-timer and regretting a past prompt you really wanted to do and ran out of time? Today’s your lucky day! Find a prompt from this year or a previous JWP and recycle that gem! (Tip: search for the tag mod post: jwp to find them without having to comb through years of previous July posts by hand.)  
> Summary: I chose the July 19th, 2018 prompt: Four Seasons. Give us a glimpse of all four seasons with Holmes and Watson.  
> Rating: G.

It is Winter when they meet. Their breaths come up in wisps of mist; they shake hands; they smile at each other. A few days later it snows over Baker Street, and Watson watches it from his new room. In the evening Holmes plays the violin – Vivaldi. It is a new beginning.

With the arrival of Spring, crime blossoms like the flowers that Mrs. Hudson leaves on the windowsills. There are cases, there are mysteries and adventures. There is admiration, there is trust, and there is something else that makes them sit together for hours. Watson starts writing stories about their escapades.

Autumn finds them leaning into each other as they walk down the street. The fallen leaves look like teardrops as they glisten under the rain. The air smells fresh – a fog settles over London. The night is quiet. When they arrive home, Watson gently brushes his fingers over Holmes’ wrist. A slight intake of breath, and then… The next morning, Autumn finds them sharing a bed.

Now, it is the end of July. There have been thousands of cases and mysteries and adventures. Under the sun, the two of them walk hand in hand. Sussex is peaceful. Tomorrow it will be Summer still, and they will walk again, and hold hands, and smile at each other as they did yesterday. They fill the silence with their laughter – the buzzing of bees at work is the only other sound in the world.


	32. Dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus prompt: Irrational Fears: Phobias are very real. Have a character suffer from a phobia.  
> Summary: Just a bit of silliness.  
> Rating: PG (i guess?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Universe: Ritchie!verse, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2011)

Watson looked at the horse, then at Holmes. He made a face. This was going to be a problem. ‘It's not that he can't ride... How is it you put it, Holmes?’

Holmes lifted his chin defensively. ‘They're dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle. Why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?’

Later that day, when they stopped to set up camp, Watson leaned in and whispered in Holmes’ ear, ‘You didn’t seem to mind it the other night, when _I_ was bobbing about between your legs, did you?’


End file.
